


How Gilmore's Glorious Goods Got Its Logo

by charmedward



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Gilmore is that one horse girl we all went to school with, Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Gore, Unicorns, featuring Gilmore as a child, spoilers for episode 41
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedward/pseuds/charmedward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shaun Gilmore was a child, he befriended a unicorn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Gilmore's Glorious Goods Got Its Logo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laraneia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laraneia/gifts).



> This piece was written for laraneia, who asked for a happy Gilmore fic! I hope this satisfies you :) 
> 
> Thanks once again to my love Aloysius for proofreading and for poking at me when I only had a few paragraphs left to go. If there are any mistakes, we blame her!

When Shaun Gilmore was a child, he befriended a unicorn. 

Now, the stories will say that unicorns are pure white, with silvery manes and eyes the colour of the moon. They’re said to appear only for the pure of heart and even then they’re solitary beasts. No one has reported a unicorn sighting in the last half century. No one, until little Shaun Gilmore entered the Hollyhock forest.

He’d been sent in on orders from his mother, a powerful spell caster and connoisseur of indulgent potions. She’d given him a list of plants and herbs to gather for her latest batch of potions – a batch she was sure would bag them a hefty return of gold. Gilmore didn’t know much about the ways of business, but he knew that gathering these items would grant him his mother’s favour, so he went without complaint. 

Somewhere around his second hour in the forest, he begins to notice an unsettling quiet around him. Gilmore has often wandered the forest and he is familiar with all of its noises, from the chirp of crickets to the rustling of bird’s wings. This part of the forest is dead silent. As soon as he notices this, his senses go into overdrive, ears straining to hear anything other than the crunch of autumn leaves beneath his feet. Fighting back an urge to call out, Gilmore pushes up his maroon coloured sleeves and holds his hands up. He walks like a newly blinded child, fingers trembling. Tiny sparks of purple-ish energy flicker around his hands like an untamed animal. He has not yet been tested in true combat.

When he hears the gurgle of the forest brook ahead he breaks into a run, the sound drawing him in like the comforting arms of a parent. He breaks through the treeline and comes to a stop. There, by the clear running water, is the body of a black unicorn.

“ _Gods,_ ” Gilmore breathes.

The slain beast is on its side, head angled towards the water as though it had been trying to get a final drink before passing. Its horn is about half a foot long, spiralled like a shell Gilmore once found at a beach. A stomach-turning smell wafts over to him and Gilmore has to clamp a hand over his nose to block it.   
Like many children do when confronted with morality, Gilmore cries. Head bowed, chest heaving, he sobs until his throat hurts. Falls to his knees and scrambles for the logic in this creature’s death, the necessity of it. In that moment, Gilmore sees the cruelness of fate and he despairs. 

When the tears will flow no more he wipes his eyes and sniffs. His nose is now too blocked to smell anything. Not that it matters, he can still see the tragedy clearly enough. The unicorn was apparently killed from a deep chest wound and several shallower ones on its flank. Dark blood oozes from the main gaping hole. 

Shaking, Gilmore gets to his feet. Though he hasn’t been brought up religious, he knows a simple prayer for the dead. It feels appropriate. It feels like his responsibility. As he steps closer he reaches out to touch the unicorn’s hair, knowing that the prayer needs to be said during physical contact. His small hand ghosts over the torso before landing, albeit reluctantly. 

Surprisingly, the body is not yet cold. Gilmore daren’t believe it until his hand is lifted half a centimetre in the air with the rise of the unicorn’s chest. He yanks his hand back. _It’s breathing. It’s alive._

“Hold on!” He cries.

And then time is working against him, trickling away like the blood trickling out of the beast. Healing magic isn’t Gilmore’s speciality and even his speciality spells are still quite weak, but it’s all he can do right now. His eyes flash purple and an aura emits from his palms. It washes over the unicorn like a liquid blanket before seeping into its very being. The aura fades and Gilmore’s hands quiver, the drain on his own energy obvious. He barely notices however. 

The unicorn has opened its eyes.

 

***

 

Gilmore had been right in thinking that he couldn’t fully heal the unicorn. He saves it from the brink of death and manages to stabilize it to the best of his abilities, but that’s all he can offer it that first day. The unicorn can’t stand up – can barely keep its eyes open. It’s an improvement, but it’s not a victory.

For a while Gilmore does his best to comfort his new friend, promising to return the following day and try the spell again. When he’s sure that the unicorn will be safe, Gilmore tentatively pats its flank and makes his way home. He forgets to pick up the potion ingredients.

The next day he returns with a pail filled with berries that he picks during his journey. When he pushes through the undergrowth and spies the brook again, he sees the unicorn lying where he left it. After another healing spell, a handful of berries and a long drink from the brook (aided by the pail) the unicorn begins to look a little better. The wound in its chest has clotted and shows the early stages of scabbing over. 

He returns every day for the better part of the next two weeks or so, until the unicorn can get to its feet and hobble around a little. Each day Gilmore pours another healing spell into his friend and each day he gets more annoyed at his own magical limits. He takes to reading his mother’s spell books at night, pursing the arcane as best as his young mind can; anything to help his unicorn. 

“What’s your name?” Gilmore asks on one of the many days. “Mother’s books say some creatures can speak Common and I think you can too. Can you tell me your name?”

The unicorn doesn’t respond.

“That’s okay. We can still be friends.”

When Gilmore gets home that night, heart light with the knowledge that his friend is only a few more days away from a full recovery, his father has some bad news. As a solider of Emon’s reserve guard, his father’s unit is being summoned to the capital city. Their family is already packing, readying for the journey.

Gilmore doesn’t get to say goodbye.

 

**

 

Some years later, Gilmore is still in Emon. His father has been deployed elsewhere now and his mother has accompanied him, but now Gilmore is old enough to make his own way in the world – and what better place for a newly licensed merchant than Emon? His start up premise is a little on the cramped side, but it’s in a good location and the funds he saves on floor space is gold that goes towards his stock. 

In the run up to his grand opening, Gilmore trawls the markets of Emon and speaks to traders from distant cities. Not far from his new store he finds a woman who will make a wooden sign to hang outside his shop front – the only issue is his lack of a logo. The shop name was easy enough, Gilmore’s Glorious Goods is something that simply rolls off the tongue, but he hasn’t yet settled on a logo that he likes. Nothing he can think of seems to describe him. Nothing stands out.

He’s at his favourite outdoors market when he sees it: a unicorn statue made of ivory. It’s the wrong colour to be _his_ unicorn, of course, but then Gilmore never told anyone about his adventures as a boy. The piece is about the size of a gnome’s head and would look wonderful as a centrepiece for his dining table. Gilmore pays out for it without even bothering to haggle, a sense of goodwill suddenly fostered in him. It had been a long time since he’d thought about his unicorn.

Statue in his arms, Gilmore sets off to visit the sign maker.

 

**

 

The day before the grand opening finds Gilmore hammering out the final details of trade with suppliers and becoming friendly with his new employee, Sherri. Slowly, it’s all come together. The highlight of the day is undoubtedly when the shop’s sign appears. With a black background and vibrant words, it really stands out amongst the other signs out on the street. Freshly painted and smelling of sawdust, it’s a beauty of a thing. Gilmore’s name is written out in spectacular calligraphy above a few short lines such as “arcanists on staff” and “custom orders our speciality”. Best of all is the logo at the top of the sign, the outline of a unicorn. 

“Why is it black?” Sherri asks.

Smiling fondly at the sign in his hands, Gilmore says, “I knew a black horse when I was a child. I fancied it for a unicorn and the idea never left me.”

He laughs it off, the secret thrill making his heart pound. Before another moment can pass he’s outside, hanging the sign himself. When Sherri asks why he doesn’t use magic, he just says some tasks are too personal for a flick of the fingers. 

That night he’s up late, wandering through the shelves and tables of his little store. Emon sleeps outside his door but Gilmore couldn’t be more awake. He makes tiny adjustments to display items and smiles. It’s ready.

The shop door blows open. 

It was locked.

Gilmore _knows_ it was locked, he did it himself when Sherri left. 

“I really don’t need this,” Gilmore says, half to himself and half to the door. “I was having such a good night.”

He approaches the door against his better judgement, sleeves pushed up and his hands at the ready. No purple energy crackles at his fingertips this time. Instead his hold on the arcane is strong, confident. The magic will come when it’s summoned and not a moment sooner.

He steps outside. A slight chill in the night air is all he registers as his eyes adapt to the dark cobblestone street. There’s no one around. No candles in residential windows above shops – nothing. But that’s not quite true. Out of the corner of his eye he spots something and turning his head he sees bright white lights – almost like fireflies – dancing in the air at the end of the street. Almost as soon as he notices them, they dart around the street corner. Gilmore pulls his door shut and gives chase. 

The lights lead him through Emon, taking him closer and closer to one of the city’s gates. No one appears in the streets around him as he runs, not even the city guard. The lights seem to know how to avoid company. 

When they reach the North gate it’s barred shut with guards patrolling it. This at least is unavoidable. The lights stay out of sight and fly over the gate. Gone. Gilmore has a few tricks of his own however and doesn’t stop to think better of it before casting invisibility on himself. The next part is child’s play.

Outside the safety of the city Gilmore can’t bring himself to feel afraid. The rational part of his brain says he should be alert for danger, but he knows the woods around the city. He knows how to handle himself in a fight. What reasonable harm could a man like Gilmore find in such a place?

He follows the lights to a clearing where they all scatter into a dozen different directions. He’s alone.

He’s not alone. Something emerges from the other side of the clearing. With no light it’s impossible to tell what, so Gilmore drops his invisibility in favour of a magical light. The twinkling burst of energy illuminates the space around him and Gilmore isn’t shocked to see that the other being is a black unicorn. Somehow, he knew.

“My friend, it’s been some time,” Gilmore says, his expression soft.

Snorting, the unicorn steps closer and bows its head in a respectful manner. Arcane light reflects off the obsidian horn and gives an almost purple sheen to the beast’s coat. From the first time since they met all those years ago, the unicorn speaks to Gilmore.

“Well met, Shaun Gilmore.”

Gilmore nearly dissipates his spell in shock.

“Gods above, I didn’t realise you could talk!” He says.

“I was weak when you found me,” the unicorn says. “And even after your attempts at healing me, I did not trust you enough to share that secret. I hope you can forgive me.”

Gilmore’s knees are a little weak. He casts around for somewhere to sit but comes up short and instead lays a hand on a nearby tree. The rough bark under his palm confirms that he is very much awake. Though magic is commonplace in this realm, there are limits to what he’s prepared to believe. 

“There is nothing to forgive. Tell me, what brings you so far from your forest?” Gilmore asks.

“I came to thank you for your actions as a child. I owe you my life and honour compelled me to seek you out and repay that debt.”

Dark, earnest eyes find Gilmore’s and there’s a moment of pause as the weight of those words hit home. It’s a sobering, though not unpleasant, feeling.

“How do you plan to repay such a debt? My life is not in danger and is hardly one of importance – I am a shopkeeper!” Gilmore says.

Pawing at the ground, the unicorn whinnies. It sounds frustrated. 

“We all must face death, Shaun Gilmore. Know that I will delay it but once for you.”

Then the unicorn walks over to a smooth rock half-hidden under a tuft of grass and touches its horn to it. The rock glows as magic courses into it, fading only when the unicorn pulls back. Gilmore watches in rapt silence.

“I have been away from my forest for too long. Keep this rock on your person and should you ever need my help, you must only speak my name three times. Then, I will appear.” The unicorn says.

Gilmore scoops up the rock and finds it to be a third of the size of his palm. It doesn’t look special. He glances up at the unicorn, at the dream of his childhood come back to repay him, and he asks, “What’s your name?”

The unicorn is already turning to leave.

“Naysayer.”

 

**

 

Thordak’s rumbling growl shakes the remaining walls of the Emon’s palace. It seems to follow Gilmore, even as he drags himself along a rug, body screaming for him to stop. He’s barely conscious, unable to focus on one thought for more than a few seconds. As he crawls further he catches sight of his hand, red and slick. 

Emon is burning. In the distance there’s a haze of screams and the crackling of a fire. Gilmore would like to curl up by a fire. Maybe in his study, after work. He can already smell the smoke.

Something large crashes to the ground outside. It sounded like a building. A tower, maybe? 

He has to get outside. He has to get back – to his shop, to Sherri, to the _children_. 

Thordak must be close. Gilmore feels as though he could look over his shoulder right now and stare into one of those massive eyes. Fear shakes him and he can’t move himself another inch. Can’t do anything but stay frozen in place.

He’s going to die here. Just like Uriel. Gilmore’s forehead presses into the rug and he feels the fibres of the carpet digging tiny patterns into his skin. He can’t make it out alone.

Something is digging into his throat. Fumbling for it, Gilmore’s hand closes around the leather pouch he carries tied to a cord around his neck. The moment he feels the pouch, he remembers. A weighty, dark stone drops into his palm. He brings it to his lips. 

With the last of his breath, he says “Naysayer. Naysayer. Naysayer.”

His eyes lull shut and his mind begins to slip from his body. As it does, he hears a whinny.

**Author's Note:**

> You can blame Naysayer's name on Aloysius, who heard me joking about it and wouldn't let me change it. I can't decide if I'm proud of it or not! And for those who aren't sure, Gilmore's family is total speculation / wishful thinking on my behalf. I hope we get more backstory for him soon.
> 
> As always, come find me on my tumblr at actualkatebishop.tumblr.com


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